Darkness Be My World
by Wujjawoo
Summary: Nothing hurts the heart or mind more than rejection. Harry comes to undestand Snape and realises that it's possible to love and hate at the same time, and that sometimes, darkness can be a mercy.


**Darkness Be My World**

**Because Darkness is His**

** Wujjawoo **

**A/N: AU as of HBP. **

I respect the hell out of him, I really do. Even though he despises me, and loathes the very fact that I exist, I have to. Even though every time I set eyes on him a little bit (or maybe a big bit; I could be lying to myself) inside of me loses faith and dies, I find myself admiring the lengths to which he went to ensure our success. He sacrificed a lot, and for that alone people should fall down on their knees and thank him. Sometimes I wonder if I was one of the things he sacrificed, but somehow I know that I was never his to sacrifice.

It's silly, I know. He's the biggest bastard I've ever had the displeasure of encountering, but still the hope inside me yearns for another chance; just one more. It's a hope in vain, though; from the very beginning I was under no illusions about the state of our relationship, and the frustration and anger I feel at myself for having that hope is eclipsed only by his hatred of me.

Sometimes I wonder how the situation could ever have escalated so out of our control, but there seems to be no logical path for the sequence of events that led us to this point in our lives. The only explanation I can give you is that fate grabbed us both by the hand and thrust us together without regard for the appalling consequences, and appalling they certainly were. When I first heard the news I didn't want to believe it, and I don't think he wanted to either. There was no denying it though, and there is no doubt that it became a powerful catalyst in the path our lives took.

I don't know how it came to be; I don't even want to think about how it could have happened. For all I know, their feelings could have been mutual, or it could have been a vindictive, cruel act, committed during the years when he had served the darkness. But I won't hypothesise about it. I could theorise about it for the rest of my life and never find the answer, because I think only he knows the truth about what really happened. I won't dwell on the events of what may or may not have happened all those years ago, because if I do I fear that it might become an obsession, and men have died because of obsession.

Ha. I'm beginning to think that nothing can kill me. I am invincible; there is nothing that can deliver me from the pain of facing each new day feeling as though I've lost an important part of myself. Admittedly, the thought of taking my own life _has_ occurred to me, but only after it's all over. By then, I'm sure, the urge will have passed, because I'll finally be free to live my own life.

But that isn't the point. The point is that right now my heart feels torn in two and it all the fault of the person to whom I suppose I owe my life. Everyone owes their life to him in a way, because without him we never would have been as well prepared as we were with his information. But I'm getting away from the point.

It's easy to try and forget if I think about other things, but somehow or other it always comes tearing back like an aggressive little terrier. So instead of trying to forget, or to rationalise, or to justify _why_, I console myself with thoughts of why he is as he is.

He's a dark man; always has been, always will be, and everybody knows it. I can't help but think that I'm turning out the same way. I'm not like him yet, but I can feel myself being pulled irresistibly down the same path; it would be so easy to just let all the bad in my life overtake anything good, because there's so much that _is_ bad. It would be so easy to pull away from everything and everyone and become embittered.

But this isn't about me. It's about him.

I've seen flashes of his childhood; snapshots that told enough for me to realise that it hadn't been happy. He was angry that I knew, because it was such a sensitive area for him. He didn't know that I completely understood, because I felt the same shame when people heard about how I had grown up. I didn't need to see any memories to know that his time at Hogwarts hadn't been all that happy either. I know it because of what I've heard from others, and because of how he's treated me in the past. His harsh words of abhorrence showed me so much more about him than he realised.

His role in this war hasn't been easy either, and I know he's suffered greatly for it. Few would have had the courage to see this war through to the end had they been in his unfortunate position, and as much as he would deny it he's showed a bravery and nobility that few expected from him.

It's my private belief that he was simply born into the wrong life. I've often wondered what would have become of him if he'd simply had the luxury of a family that believed in love.

But what do I know? After all, there is so much that I don't know about him, so I really don't have the right to judge him either way. The fact of the matter is that Darkness is all he has ever known. Darkness is his life; it takes up every nook and cranny, every facet that there is to him, and because of that, there is no room for me.

That is my consolation. It may be weak, but it is all I have. I'm so angry and so filled with sorrow, but he doesn't care, so instead I show indifference. Even as I sit here now, after he has gone, I know that this flippant, uncaring attitude and this calm mask that I have adopted as my expression are both his. This was how he started out.

But there is nothing else, because I have sacrificed enough of my dignity and enough of my pride when there was no reason for me to do so. If I were to do the alternative, and wear my heart on my sleeve (as he was once so fond of saying), I would go to pieces. I can't afford that now. So I will finish what I have to, what only I can do, and then I will try to sort out the broken pieces of my life. If I haven't been clear, I apologise. It's hard for me to accept that the one person I've yearned for more than any wants nothing to do with me.

How I wish I'd never found out. How I wish none of it had ever happened. How I wish I could just forgive and forget. But this is my life, as much as I wish it wasn't. This is my hateful fate.

And this is our story.

**oOoOo**

At the end of sixth year, Harry returned to Privet Drive for the last time in his life.

It wasn't a pleasant time; the Dursley's were as hateful and vindictive as they had ever been. It was their utmost desire that Harry not be happy, and sometimes Harry was amazed at the lengths to which they would go to ensure that this desire was fulfilled. If Harry hadn't known better he would have said that crueller people couldn't be found. It was one of his life's great disappointments that he had had to experience a greater evil than the detestation these Muggles heaped upon him.

He supposed though, that in some twisted way it was a mercy. Compared to…other things, the Dursley's weren't so bad. Emotional turmoil could be overcome so much easier when you didn't care, and Harry no longer worried that they didn't love him. Well, maybe that was wrong. Maybe it was just that he was resigned to the fact.

In the end it amounted to the same thing.

The fact of the matter was that Harry could handle the Dursley's cold hostility much more easily than he could things he witnessed in his visions.

"Get lost, Dudley," said Harry wearily. He knew Dudley was scared of him. The only thing that gave him courage was the fact that his father would 'deal' with Harry if he did any 'funny business'. According to Dudley, Harry did a lot of funny business.

Right now though, Harry was sure he was being completely Muggle. After all, what strange magic could result from sitting on a garden swing in the backyard? None that he knew of. Harry briefly entertained the notion of telling the Dursleys that Dudley's visions of magic stemmed from the fact that he often came home tripping on acid, and that if Harry was around when this happened, a leaf skittering across the ground towards him might equate to some dastardly spell in Dudley's mind.

Dudley cuffed Harry roughly on the shoulder with his fist, making the swing jerk abruptly. Harry grabbed the chains in order to keep his balance and Dudley planted a firm punch to his unprotected stomach. Harry frowned and stood.

He didn't want whoever was babysitting him today to see him getting beat up on by his cousin.

"Running away?" mocked Dudley as Harry headed for the laundry door. Harry sent a condescending look over his shoulder at Dudley's lazy grin.

"Running? Dudley I could walk away and you wouldn't be able to catch me."

Dudley's grin slipped away like ice-cream melting on a hot day and his eyes narrowed to slits.

"Get back here, you little punk," he whined.

_Oh dear_, Harry thought sarcastically. _I've upset little Dudders. Big Dudders. Whatever._

Granted, he _was_ little when compared to Dudley, but no longer small in the slightest. He'd been, as they say, a late bloomer, but now he stood well over six feet. A good nine months of meals at Hogwarts had ensured that he'd filled out a bit, but already he was starting to think he was shrinking, and he'd only been at the Dursley's for a week. He resolved to send Ron and Hermione a plea for food immediately, but then remembered that he was only allowed to send owls in an absolute emergency. This was a rule from both Dumbledore and his relatives.

The Dursley's had decided to bring a full stop to his communications with the other freaks, and Voldemort had stepped up his activities in the past year. There was a good chance his owl would be spotted by someone with less than honourable intentions in times like these.

The door swung shut behind Harry, and Dudley had evidently decided that it was too hot to raise a fuss, as he didn't follow. Harry mourned the loss of the warm sun as he slouched into his cupboard. The Dursley's had finally realised that Harry would be returning here regardless of how they treated him, and as a result he had been banished to the cupboard under the stairs again. It seemed so small now that he had grown; the mattress barely accommodated half of his length and the cupboard itself was just longer than Harry himself.

It was dark, as well. The light bulb was missing and the bushes outside the thin, high window had grown over the past year to obscure his view of the sky. Harry doubted he would be handing in his homework for the new year unless he could complete it while the Dursleys were absent, but couldn't muster up the energy to care.

He slumped against the wall because the ceiling was too low for him to stand, and the dust from the floor drifted up to tickle his nose. He looked down at his glow-in-the-dark watch- a small mercy in this dark place. Five fifteen, it read.

Harry's scar prickled and he automatically occluded his mind, not even bothering to rub it to assuage the pain. He'd become adept at the art over the last year, but found that it rarely helped his dreams. Their connection was deeper than the mind, Harry knew.

It went right down to their souls.

He fell into a fitful sleep.

**oOoOo**

June 18th and Harry was whisked away from the Dursleys. There were no goodbyes and no tearful well-wishes, just a yelled 'I'm leaving,' from the front door and that was it. The television's monologue had continued on uninterrupted and Dumbledore had held out a Portkey and Harry had taken it. Dumbledore didn't say anything until they got back to Grimmauld Place because there _was_ nothing he could say.

_You see?_ Harry had wanted to rage at him. _See where I grew up?_ A thousand choice accusations had come to his mind but he'd refrained from uttering them because there was nothing anyone could do about something that had already happened.

"A good meal would do you well," Dumbledore said instead, and Harry knew that it was the closest to an apology the old man would ever come. Harry left his belongings in the hall and headed off for the kitchen, hearing Dumbledore let out a sigh behind him. He knew that the Headmaster regretted what their relationship had become, but Harry was past caring.

He opened the worn door that led to the kitchen and stopped. Snape sat at the table, looking the perfect picture of despair. His head hung forward, cradled in hands that tangled in his long greasy hair. His eyes were closed, his face devoid of its usual sour countenance. A hand rested on Harry's shoulder and pulled the door from his grip, closing it against the sight of Snape.

"To your room, Harry," said Dumbledore. "I think that would be best for now."

"What's wrong with Snape?" asked Harry, shrugging Dumbledore's hand from his shoulder.

"Professor Snape, Harry."

It was an old custom and it hardly meant anything now. He wasn't sure why they continued to say those words- maybe out of some nostalgic remembrance of the past when they had been closer and Harry had been happier. Harry waited in silence for Dumbledore's answer, and it finally came.

"Professor Snape has found out that he has a son," Dumbledore said softly, guiding Harry and his trunk towards the stairs. Harry snorted in disbelief.

"How could he not know he had a son?" Harry asked, a second before remembering that Snape had once been of questionable character. Dumbledore sent him a sharp look, obviously aware of where his thoughts were going.

"I will ask you not to repeat this to any of your friends, Harry," he ordered. Harry shrugged. He didn't really care anyway.

"Who is he?" Harry asked instead. A swift look of regret and sadness passed across Dumbledore's face, but it was gone before Harry could check to see whether it had really been there. Harry knew he wouldn't get an answer.

"Will he be coming here, then?"

Slowly Dumbledore shook his head.

"I don't think so, Harry. Soon, though. Soon…"

The reply didn't make sense at all, so Harry took his trunk and left Dumbledore to his scheming.

So Snape had a son, eh? Well, how about that. Harry felt sorry for him. He wondered if Snape had a paternal bone in his body. He wondered if Snape would have been anything like his father. He wondered, again, just who this son of his was.

Ah well. He wasn't likely to find out.

Harry trudged up the stairs to the room he'd last shared with Ron and chose the bed nearest the window so that he could look out at the stars. He laid down, but the sky was cloudy and there was nothing to see. His stomach grumbled loudly and he wondered how long it would be before Snape left. If it was to much longer Harry wasn't going to worry if he was still there or not. He was absolutely starving.

Long before he even thought of going downstairs again though, he had fallen into a deep sleep.

**oOoOo**

A week after Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place, the Weasleys burst through the door with Hermione in tow, a rush of red hair and noise. Harry grinned as he came down the stairs.

"Hi, guys," he greeted. A week of no one to talk to had left him desperate for any kind of social interaction, and he was glad someone had finally shown up.

"Harry!" squealed Hermione, enveloping him in a hug. Ron gave him a firm thump on the back and clasped his shoulder.

"You alright, mate?" he asked, a concerned look on his face. Harry nodded and heard Mrs Weasley tutting before she scooped him up in a hug.

"Look how thin you are!" she lamented. "And so pale! Those horrid Muggles…"

"It's okay, Mrs Weasley, really," Harry assured her. "I'll be fine in no time."

"Hmm," she replied dispassionately, eyeing him fiercely. He smiled, knowing he could look forward to a big dinner. It was so good to be amongst friends.

**oOoOo**

"Are you sure you're alright, Harry?" asked Hermione, her voice pleading. The train pulled away from the platform with a jerk, jostling them in their seats.

"Yes," Harry snapped curtly. He was tiring of all these questions. He just wanted to think without anyone pestering him. He supposed the questions were warranted though. He knew he looked ill; he had bags under his eyes and his skin was devoid of colour. "I just haven't been sleeping well."

Hermione nodded sympathetically.

"Your scar?"

"Yes." _Amongst other things_, he thought darkly, remembering the revelation that had come less than a week ago. But he didn't want to think about that now…

He looked out the window as the station disappeared from view, and the other occupants of the carriage were silent. They didn't know what to say, and Harry was glad. He didn't want their words of comfort, because there was nothing they could say that would make the things he say alright. Every time he closed his eyes…Merlin, it was horrible. Every time he dreamt it would be of Voldemort and the Death Eaters and what they did. Voldemort no longer knew he had the dreams- Occlumency at least stopped that- but no matter what he tried the connection couldn't be broken or altered in any way.

Harry sighed and looked around at his friends. Ron and Hermione sat next to each other holding hands, Hermione resting her head on Ron's shoulder with her eyes closed. Harry smiled slightly. Ron looked over and, seeing Harry, returned the smile. An unspoken question lingered in his gaze and Harry knew what it was because Ron had asked him so many times before. He shook his head slowly with a sad smile, as he did every time Ron asked.

_When will you be happy, Harry? Why do you refuse to try? Ginny…I know you like her. Why?_

He would never tell them about the prophecy. The less people that knew the better he would feel. There were rumours, of course, but whenever anyone asked Harry turned them away. He wasn't the Chosen One, he would tell them. There was no prophecy about him and Voldemort. When they heard the Dark Lord's name they always went away.

Harry looked out of the glass in the compartment door and saw an Auror strolling down the corridor. His gaze met with Harry's and widened slightly, but he continued on. Harry wasn't sure about his name. There were so many Aurors around him now, circling like vultures that were there to protect him but smothered him all the same.

Harry's mind drifted back to _the incident_. It was what he called it in his mind, because he couldn't bear to think of it as anything else. Afterwards, when Dumbledore left, Harry had tried to talk with…him, but he had mocked Harry and sent him away. He had tried hard, he really had, but it had been in vain. There would be no chance of a happy ending for them, but Harry still hoped that maybe there could be. Maybe when the shock of the revelation had worn off. Maybe.

Harry leaned his head back against the wall and stared out at the passing scenery in melancholy reflection. He was so _weary_... He drifted off into blissful darkness…

_Crucio!_

_The woman on the ground writhed in pain, her screams echoing into the deepest corners of Harry's mind. She might have tried to speak, to yell for help, but if she did it was eclipsed by the screams of pain that tore from her throat and lungs. She curled up on the ground, her muscles clenching and unclenching spasmodically. _

_Deep laughter erupted from Harry's mouth. _

"_Well done, Severus…" he breathed. It was too quiet for anyone to hear, but because Harry was in his head he knew exactly what the words were. Coldness filled his heart, and he couldn't tell if it was his or Voldemort's. _

"_Finish the job," Voldemort said coldly, mirth tinging his words. Voldemort turned from the scene, leaving the room. He looked back once before he disappeared, and Harry saw a Death Eater moving towards the woman, dragging her to her feet and thrusting her against the wall. Please…Harry begged, but he knew pleading would make no difference whether he was in this place or not. When he felt his scar burning he knew he was waking…_

Harry drew in a deep breath and sat up, blinking the sleepiness from his eyes. Ron and Hermione were both asleep now, and he realised with a jolt that this was the last time they would make this trip together. He banished the images of the dream from his mind. He had seen worse. He wished that the mood in the compartment was not so sombre. Their last ride to Hogwarts should have been a joyful one…

It was his fault, he supposed. He hadn't really been making an effort to appear happy, and he knew his mood rubbed off on them. He sighed and rubbed his twinging scar. It throbbed lightly beneath his skin. Harry watched as Hermione turned her head, burying her face into Ron's neck. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her firmly against him. He envied them so much.

Harry felt his scar throb again and an unnatural happiness thrummed through him. Harry sighed and stood up, pulling on his robes and stuffing his wand in his pocket. He scooped a few galleons into his pocket and set off to look for the food trolley.

He found the witch with the food trolley near the front of the train, and waited patiently for the group around her to dissipate. He ignored the glances that the students sent his way and stepped up to her, noticing that it was a different lady to usual. He wondered where the old one had gone. A victim of Voldemort, possibly?

"A cauldron cake and three chocolate frogs, thanks," said Harry, holding out his money. The lady handed over the food, and when she saw who he was she blushed and looked down. Harry waited for his change, annoyed when she fumbled and nearly dropped it. Her hand shook as she dropped the sickles and knut into his hand.

"Thankyou," said Harry.

"You're welcome," she squeaked, averting her eyes.

_That's right_, Harry thought maliciously. _You are not worthy to look at me_.

He immediately felt bad. He hadn't been serious. He was just so fed up…everything. He started to head back down the train, nodding his head at an Auror that he vaguely recognised from Order meetings. A sudden surge of emotion through his scar halted him. It was gone a second later though, so Harry shook his head and kept walking. He had barely taken two steps though, when searing pain shot through his head and the image of the Hogwarts express from afar flashed into his mind. He whirled around, aghast, pushing past the oblivious students that blocked his way.

"Anthony!" he yelled, recalling the Auror's name in his moment of panic. Anthony's response was quick; he ran out into the corridor and Harry signalled to him over the heads of the students. He pointed at the scar on his forehead, and Anthony knew exactly what it meant. He gave a sharp nod and disappeared back into the compartment.

A second later there was a loud thump and the carriage rocked, and then jerked to a standstill. Everyone went sprawling, their momentum carrying them forward. Harry lurched to his feet, drawing out his wand.

"Everyone get into a compartment! Now!" he yelled. Students looked up at him with wide eyes; there was a second loud _bang_ and they scrambled to do as he said. Harry's scar twinged painfully, but the corridor was clear now. He rushed to find Anthony, and found him in the compartment, unconscious.

"Enervate," he muttered. Anthony blinked blearily and sat up, putting a hand to his head.

"I hit my head," he murmured, surprised.

"I know," Harry said urgently. "Are you okay?"

Anthony nodded, but he seemed a bit vague.

"Did you contact the Order?" he asked. Anthony nodded again. Harry sighed in relief.

"Alright. Voldemort's here. I need you to get up. Can you do that?"

Anthony nodded and Harry helped him struggle to his feet. A third bang echoed from the front of the train and Harry heard screams. The two of them looked at each other and then in the direction of the sound. Harry took off running.

"Potter!" yelled Anthony. "Potter, you've got to stay away!"

But Harry didn't listen. Anthony was barely useful as he was now and someone had to go and help. He wondered where the other Aurors were. He burst into the next carriage and saw students crowding at the other end, attempting to peer through the window to see what was going on.

"Out of my way!" Harry roared. "Get in your compartments and stay there!"

They turned towards him, some with retorts on their lips, but as soon as they saw who it was they scattered like leaves in the wind. They watched him with wide eyes as he ran past, dashing into the next compartment. The students in this carriage were already hidden away, and Harry caught the glimpse of a black cloak in the next one. He dashed through the door, slowing now that he had reached his destination. He peered through the window and saw an Auror lying prone on the floor. Harry hoped he wasn't dead.

Harry saw three Death Eaters sweep into the carriage to join the one already there, and they made their slowly toward him, checking each of the carriages. One of the Death Eaters let out a triumphant shout and a student was pulled out of a compartment and hurled to the floor. Harry paled when he realised that it was Neville. He strained to hear what the Death Eater was saying.

He saw Neville shake his head stubbornly, and the Death Eater raised his wand. Neville flinched, and a second later he convulsed under the force of the Cruciatus Curse. Screams that were not just Neville's reached Harry's ears.

"Where is Harry Potter?" the Death Eater yelled. Harry felt guilt worming into his stomach. He saw Neville slump to the ground, shaking his head again, and he felt a stab of admiration for the young man.

"I will do it again, boy," warned the Death Eater. "We can see if you last as long as your parents did."

Neville struggled upright, hate filling his face.

"Who- who are you?" he demanded, his voice shaky. The Death Eater laughed unpleasantly. Harry wondered why they didn't just keep searching the carriages.

The Death Eater pointed his wand at Neville again, but Neville stared up at him defiantly this time. Harry readjusted his grip on his wand, his hands sweating. The door opened behind him and he spun around, but it was just Anthony.

"Where is the Order?" he hissed quietly. Anthony shrugged, his face pale. The wound on his head bled sluggishly.

"Anti-apparition wards," he said simply. Harry swore and turned back around in time for Harry to see Neville kick out at the Death Eater, knocking his legs from beneath him. A second Death Eater raised their wand, a curse on the tip of their tongue as Neville lunged at the Death Eater, wrestling for his wand.

"Cruci-"

"No!" yelled Harry. He pushed the door open quickly, startling the Death Eaters.

"Run, Harry," gasped Neville, and Harry did. He jumped off of the side of the train, scrambling over the tracks and out into the country-side. The Death Eaters followed him, calling out for others, and Harry spun around just in time to put up a shield as a curse flew towards him. Back on the train Anthony was duelling with one of the Death Eaters, but a curse hit him and he staggered forward, clutching his chest as blood spurted out.

"Merlin…" Harry muttered. Where the bloody hell was the Order? Harry felt excitement and triumph wash over him and his scar twinged painfully. He looked wildly around as the Death Eaters closed in. He began flinging hexes at them, backing up, knowing that if he could just get past the wards he could apparate… He mouthed the incantations faster than he ever had in his life, firing off non-verbal spells when he needed to breathe.

There were too many Death Eaters though. They pressed forward relentlessly, spreading to encircle him. He was vaguely aware that students were hexing the Death Eaters from behind, but their spells seemed to hit an impenetrable wall.

Harry hit a Death Eater and he crumpled to the ground, closely followed by another. Voldemort's anger made his scar burn, and Harry wondered where he was. If he was watching he must have been close by.

"Where's your Master?" Harry spat. "Too cowardly to come and get me himself is he?"

He breathed deeply, seeing the Death Eaters stir in anger. Good. Get them annoyed, make them lose their calm.

"Huh?" he yelled. "Come out and fight me, you bastard!"

His scar flared in pain and his vision blacked for a moment. He dropped to his knees to avoid a curse, stunning another Death Eater as he did so. And finally he saw the Order, running towards him form the train.

_Of course_, Harry thought sarcastically. _They had to apparate to the wrong side of the train_.

Two more Death Eaters fell from the Order's attack before their presence was realised, and another wave of rage swept through Harry. He clenched his jaw and continued to back away, stumbling on a rock. He nearly tripped, but someone grabbed his elbow and hauled him upright. Harry saw the train begin to move off, and was thankful that the students would be safe now. The person who had grabbed him pulled him behind an outcrop of rock and Harry saw that it was the Auror who had walked past his compartment earlier that morning.

Harry felt a surge of glee and forced it aside. Why was Voldemort so happy?

"Here, put this on," urged the Auror, handing Harry and pendant. He forced it over Harry's head and grabbed his arm, and before Harry could object they had apparated.

They landed with a _thump_ in a heavily wooded area in the middle of goodness-knows-where and the Death Eater immediately pulled the pendant from around Harry's neck. Harry felt a twinge of suspicion.

"Thanks…" he said carefully, taking a small step back from the Auror. How had an Auror's pendant allowed him to pass through Voldemort's wards?

"Don't make things easy, do you, Potter?"

"No, I certainly don't," replied Harry, taking another subtle pace backwards. He raised his wand and pointed it at the Auror. "By that, do you mean that it would have been easier if I'd just stayed in my carriage where you told them I was?"

The Auror frowned.

"I'm sorry," Harry mocked. "I was hungry, you see. If I'd realised the importance of it, of course I would have stayed. You really should have told me."

The Auror laughed.

"Come now Potter, put your wand down. I had no idea there was going to be an attack. I was on that train to protect you, not to make their job easier."

"So you weren't on some kind of… of reconnaissance mission? Sorry, but I don't believe you."

The Auror sighed, looking about him.

"What must I do to prove to you that I'm not a Death Eater?" he asked. He pulled up his sleeve. "See, no mark."

"Voldemort would be barking mad if he marked all of his servants. All the Ministry has to do is make it compulsory for everyone to be checked for it." Harry looked the man up and down, taking yet another step away from him. "What's your name, then?"

"Barnes," sighed the Auror. "Jimmy Barnes. I've worked for the Auror's office for thirteen years."

"Right," said Harry. "And where are we now?"

"At the edge of the Forbidden Forest." He pointed off to Harry's right. "We walk that way fifty metres and there's a path that takes us to a tunnel. That tunnel will lead us to the Shrieking Shack. I've been told you know the rest."

Harry nodded. He didn't believe the man in the slightest.

"And that's what we're supposed to do? Walk back to Hogwarts?"

"And someone will meet us there," Barnes confirmed, looking about the undergrowth. He was clearly waiting for someone.

"Well let's go then," said Harry.

"Okay," agreed Barnes calmly. He set off in the direction he had indicated.

"No, not that way," said Harry. He gestured in the other direction with his wand. "That way. Start walking."

Barnes frowned again.

"Potter, this is completely-"

"Walk or I will make you, Barnes."

"Amazing," muttered Barnes to himself. His hand crept slowly towards his pocket.

"Barnes," said Harry sharply. Barnes jerked slightly, his eyes flitting about. They had to move quickly. "Accio wand," he said. Barnes' wand flew through his grasping fingers and into Harry's fist.

"Potter!" spat Barnes. "Return my wand at once!"

"Sorry. Don't really feel safe if you have it. On second thoughts- Accio pendant!"

The pendant disentangled itself from Barnes' pocket and flew to Harry.

"Stupefy," said Harry. Barnes fell face-first into the dirt and Harry stepped towards him. "What a sorry excuse for an Auror you are," he snarled down at his still form. He put the pendant around his neck, grasped Barnes' arm, and apparated to Hogsmeade.

Harry took in the sight of Hogsmeade and saw that it was comfortingly familiar. He thrust the evil pendant deep into his pocket and pointed his wand at the form of the prone Auror.

"Mobilicorpus," he muttered. Barnes' form floated into the air and Harry nudged it along, pushing it ahead of him up to the school as quickly as he could. Having never been at school this early before, Harry walked slowly, enjoying the afternoon sun. He passed through the gates of the school and gave a sigh of relief. He passed the lake, where waves lapped softly against the small beach and up the stairs of the castle. He hummed as he walked, pushing Barnes along ahead of him and possibly being rougher than was necessary.

Harry stopped before the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office.

"Would you open, please? I really need to speak with Dumbledore and I don't know the password."

The gargoyle remained annoyingly still. Harry sighed.

"Fine. Be difficult," he muttered. "Fizzing Whizbees. Blood Pops. Chocolate Frogs." He remembered he still had three chocolate frogs in his pocket. "Lemon Drops. Skiving Snack Boxes. Canary Creams. Caramel Crisps. Tim Tams. Oh, for goodness sake!"

Harry turned abruptly and headed for McGonagall's office. This was ridiculous! Surely they would be wondering where he was? Why did they insist on making it so hard for him to find them? McGonagall's office was empty as well, but Harry spotted a container of Floo Powder. He lit a fire and threw some of the powder in.

"Dumbledore's office," he ordered, sticking his head into the flames. The room came into view and Harry saw Dumbledore and various other Order members seated around the desk.

"Do you think he's been taken, Albus?" asked McGonagall worriedly.

"The situation would suggest so," replied Dumbledore slowly. "Severus, were you aware of this attack?"

"Of course not Albus. I need hardly say that you would also know if it had been otherwise," he said snidely. Dumbledore nodded.

"Excuse me," said Harry loudly. The occupants of the room turned to him and McGonagall gasped loudly. "Do you think you could tell me the password to your office, sir? I tried to get in, but the blasted statue wouldn't let me. I'm in Professor McGonagall's office now."

"Harry," breathed Dumbleore with relief. "Thank goodness. The password is 'Mrs Butterworth's Dairy Delights.'"

"Oh, why didn't I guess?" asked Harry sarcastically. "Right, I'll be there in five."

And with a small _pop_, he disappeared.

True to his word, five minutes later a knock sounded on Dumbledore's door and Harry entered, a body trailing behind him.

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore in alarm, standing up. "You didn't say anything about this!"

Harry shrugged.

"There wasn't really time," he said.

"Good Lord, is that Jimmy Barnes?" asked Tonks. Harry looked dubiously at the man beside him.

"So he said. If it is then you might want to ask him a few questions. If it isn't then you might want to start looking for him. Because this one," he gave the man a firm nudge, "is almost certainly working for Voldemort."

"Surely not!" exclaimed a woman, whom Harry recognised as Emmeline Vance.

"Well he did try to abduct me," said Harry. He pulled the pendant from his pocket. "Does this belong to the Order?"

Snape stepped forward and snatched the pendant from him.

"Barnes had this on him?"

"He used it to apparate me outside the wards that Voldemort put up. That kind of clued me in to the fact that he wasn't quite legitimate."

Snape nodded sharply.

"This is a substitute for the Dark Mark," he said. "The wearer will have the same privileges as a Death Eater."

"Well, there you are," said Harry.

"What exactly happened?" asked Dumbledore, frowning as he surveyed Barnes.

"Um- well the train stopped and I could feel Voldemort. I heard screams and went after them, then got the Death Eaters away from the train. Barnes grabbed me and pulled me behind a rock and slipped the pendant around my neck. He apparated us to some place in the middle of nowhere- you'll have to ask him exactly where it was- and then I confronted him. I stunned him, took his wand and apparated to Hogsmeade. And now I'm here."

Dumbledore nodded. He looked at Snape.

"I think it would be wise for Harry to hold on to that for now, Severus. You never know when it may come in handy…"

Snape handed it back with a slight frown, and Harry buried it securely in his pocket.

"Well, everything seems to have turned out in the end. Would you mind reviving him, Harry?"

Harry guided the man to the floor and enervated him. He sat up abruptly and his face paled when he saw the hostile glares being directed at him.

"Ah-"

"That will be quite enough," cut in Professor McGonagall, her lips pursed so hard that they were white. Snape drifted out of Barnes' line of sight.

"Now, now, Minerva. Let us hear his side of the story." He peered sternly over his glasses at the suddenly weak-looking man. "What do have to say for yourself, Jimmy?"

"Er-" Barnes got slowly to his feet, patting his pocket surreptitiously.

"Don't bother," said Harry coldly. "I've got it."

He withdrew Barnes' wand from his pocket and twirled it between his fingers smiling innocently. Barnes sneered at him.

"Well I think the facts speak for themselves," he spat. Dumbledore looked at him sadly.

"Is there nothing you can say-"

Dumbledore was interrupted as Barnes suddenly leapt at Harry, drawing something from his pocket.

"Stupefy!" hissed Harry, as Barnes' hand closed around his wrist. Barnes slumped against Harry and he let out a deep breath before looking up and grinning.

"Well, that was-"

There was a lurch in his stomach as the Portkey in Barnes' hand activated. His jaw dropped in horror and a second later, he was gone.

**oOoOo**

_So this is a _proper_ dungeon_, thought Harry in disgust, looking around at the filthy mess in the cell. The floor was slick with damp mould, stained in areas with the brownness of dry blood. The bars on the door were rusted and thin, but they didn't give an inch when he tried to bend them. There was no window. Harry slipped the pendant over his neck, but found he still couldn't apparate.

He kicked savagely at Barnes and then, struck by a sudden idea, pulled the man's wand from his pocket. Looking around, he hurried to the corner of the cell where the moss grew especially thick and pulled it away from the wall. He slipped Barnes' wand into the gap and patted the moss back in place. On second thought, he pulled the moss back up and hollowed out a bigger space, slipping the three chocolate frogs and the pendant in as well. He hid the evidence of his actions and ate the cauldron cake as quickly as he could, not sparing a crumb. When none was left, he pulled his own cherished wand from his pocket and looked at it with a sigh.

Unfortunately they would never believe that he didn't have his wand, and he refused to take the risk of them searching the cell to find it. One wand that wasn't his was better then no wand at all. Fixing a cold look on his face he revived the traitorous Auror for the second time that day. Barnes blinked in confusion, but a satisfied grin broke out on his face when he saw Harry leaning against the cold wall.

"Potter!" He stood, his eyes flickering to the wand that Harry twirled carelessly in his hands. "That's mine."

Harry looked down and raised his eyebrows.

"It's not actually. Sorry to disappoint you. Our wands are rather similar, aren't they?"

Barnes took a step towards him, but Harry stopped him with a raised hand. He motioned for Barnes to move back.

"Uhuh. Right over there by the wall, please. I have a few questions." He pointed his wand at Barnes, and the man did as Harry had asked. "Now, do you happen to know how one might get out of this cell?" he queried.

"This specific cell?" asked Barnes lightly, raising an eyebrow. "The Dark Lord himself is the only on that can open this particular cell."

"And how does he do that?" asked Harry. Barnes sneered.

"You'd never be able to get out," he said.

"Well that's the thing, you see," replied Harry. "Me and Voldemort have this _thing_, where I can read his mind and other good stuff like that. So if you would just tell me…"

"I have no intention of telling you," Barnes hissed.

"And there's one other thing," threatened Harry, his voice lowering. "You know how Voldemort's so fond of the Unforgivables? Well as a result of this connection, I'm quite partial to them myself. It really would be a shame if I had to use one on you."

"You wouldn't!" exclaimed Barnes, though he seemed unsure. Harry grinned widely. It was a bluff of course, but Barnes didn't know that. He seemed to have had more than enough exposure to the Unforgivables.

"Oh, I would," said Harry. "It's one of the perks of being the Boy-Who-Lived, you see. No one expects me to do such a thing, so as a result I've had plenty of practice."

"You're really confident of yourself, aren't you?" Barnes snarled. "Even though you're sitting in a jail cell in the Dark Lord's lair."

"I'm shitting myself," said Harry truthfully. "But it really annoys him if I pretend I'm not, and breaking down and wailing like some poncy Malfoy really wouldn't help me. But make no mistake- I'm desperate, and desperate men will do desperate things."

Barnes didn't say anything, but he didn't need to, because at that moment Harry's scar gave a painful throb.

"Ah, too late," said Harry, and Barnes visibly paled, thinking that Harry had decided to act against him. "Your master approaches." This news seemed to bring him no peace. Harry raised his wand with a cold smile. He stabbed it forward with a loud 'BOO'. Sparks shot out of it and Barnes jumped. Harry laughed.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Jimmy. Couldn't cast an Unforgivable if I tried. You fool."

Footsteps echoed in the passage and Harry got to his feet. He tossed his wand to Barnes and winked.

"Do me a favour and keep that safe, would you? I would hate to need it and not have it."

Barnes caught Harry's wand with a stunned look, but as soon as the door opened he rushed forward and fell to his knees, holding Harry's wand out like an offering to a god. Ah well. It had been worth a try.

"Potter's wand, my Lord," he breathed, his voice quivering respect. Voldemort took the wand, his eyes gleaming in triumph. "Well done, Barnes," he commended, slipping Harry's wand into his pocket.

"Not really," drawled Harry. "Barnes here took a little detour to Hogwarts before he made it here. Lucky he had a Portkey, really, or he'd be in Azkaban by now."

Voldemort glared down at Barnes.

"Out of my way, fool," he spat at the prostrate form. Barnes scrambled to obey.

"I will tell you why you are here, Potter," said Voldemort.

"Straight to the point, as always," muttered Harry.

"You will be here until you tell me the prophecy," Voldemort went on loudly, his high, cold voice grating on Harry's nerves.

"So you'll let me go if I tell you?" Harry asked.

Voldemort didn't answer.

"That's what I thought," Harry sniffed.

Voldemort left.

**oOoOo**

"He has requested Potions of a…questionable nature for…testing."

"Do everything he asks of you, Severus. Risk your cover only if Harry's life is at stake."

Snape nodded and turned to leave. As he reached the door, Dumbledore called out to him and he turned back.

"Severus…Do you not feel anything?" he asked at last.

Snape fixed his unfathomable upon Dumbledore for a moment. He left without giving an answer.

**oOoOo**

The large hand clamped over his mouth to forestall any protests he might have made. The cool, superior voice greeted his ears, and Harry knew that, beyond the mask, the man was wearing a sneer.

"Drink it now, Potter, and it will be over quicker," he hissed into Harry's ear. Harry thought that there was something odd about his tone. "Do you understand?"

Slowly Harry nodded, dread pooling in his stomach. The Death Eater stepped back and flicked his wand; the ropes binding Harry to the wall disappeared and his feet returned to the ground. The Death Eater uncapped a vial and handed it to Harry. Harry took it with trembling fingers, well aware of Voldemort's approving presence on the other side of the room.

Tipping his head back, Harry swallowed the contents of the vial in one gulp, fear shouting at him not to do it. But he had no choice. He would rather do it willingly than let them force him. A moment passed, and Harry thought everything might be okay, but then the pain hit. He fell to the ground with a moan, his innards convulsing as though he had consumed acid. He realised that maybe he had.

A gasp of pain escaped him and he wrapped his arms around his stomach, curling up into a tight ball. The pain consumed his abdomen and torso; burning, fiery pain that filled every vein it could find. It seemed to swell and pulse, forcing its way up his throat, and Harry vomited convulsively onto the ground in front of him. Slowly the pain receded, leaving Harry gasping for breath and his mouth reeking of blood and bile. The vomit was a frothy red liquid, nothing more, because there was nothing else in his stomach that could have been brought up.

He rolled onto his back, his stomach protesting the movement. When he opened his eyes, the Death Eater was staring down at him, inspecting him as Voldemort laughed softly.

"Quite satisfactory," he murmured. Harry knew the betrayal showed clearly in his eyes.

"Satisfactory indeed," replied Voldemort. Harry rolled over and forced himself to his feet. He looked the Death Eater in the eye and spat at their feet, the spit red and bloody.

"Scum," he hissed.

Voldemort laughed.

**oOoOo**

The next time Harry saw that Death Eater was over a week later. He came to Harry's cell, alone. Harry looked up as he opened the door, surprised to see that he wasn't wearing his mask.

The Death Eater knelt in front of him, a finger on his chin forcing Harry to look at him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice emotionless.

Harry didn't need to answer, because the question didn't need to be asked. The answer was obvious.

"The Order is looking for a way to get you out," he continued. "I hope it will not be long."

"_You_ hope, or Dumbledore hopes?" asked Harry hoarsely. His throat ached from all of the screaming. The Death Eater was silent for a moment.

"Do you trust me, Potter?" he asked softly, a dangerous undertone to his voice.

"Do I trust you, or do I trust that you are loyal to the Order?" asked Harry.

"Stop answering my questions with questions!" the Death Eater hissed. Harry stared dispassionately at the Death Eater before him.

"Dumbledore believes he is loyal, Tom, and that is all that matters," spat Harry. The Death Eater's eyes widened in surprise and he stood.

"Very well," he said.

He left, and moment later walked in again, but Harry knew that this time it was the real one, not Voldemort.

"You knew…" prompted the Death Eater, but Harry didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply. Only Voldemort could open that door, Barnes had said. And if he hadn't known that, then surely his burning scar would have given it away…

"He suspects you," said Harry.

"It is why he has me prove my loyalty," the Death Eater replied. He uncorked another bottle.

"You won't feel anything. It will take three days for this potion to activate fully-"

"A slow-acting poison, eh?"

"Not a poison, no. Now drink," he ordered. Harry took it slowly. It was as clear as water. He swallowed it; found it the same consistency and taste as water.

"Water?" he asked, his throat burning.

"Unfortunately not," the Death Eater murmured. He looked as though he wanted to speak.

"He's gone," said Harry, as loudly as he could. "You can say whatever it is you want to say."

The Death Eater looked down at him for a moment.

"The Order _is _trying. Though as it stands, we have no idea where you are being held. Even I have no knowledge of this location."

"Whatever," murmured Harry. "Some water would be nice, thought, if you could manage it."

"How long has it been since you had some?" the Death Eater asked. He seemed almost civil. Maybe he felt guilty. Maybe he knew that what he was doing was out of his area of expertise.

"How long have I been here?"

"Eleven days."

"There's your answer."

The Death Eater seemed to hesitate for a moment, before pulling a small flask from deep inside his robes. He unscrewed the lid and handed it to Harry. Cool, refreshing water washed over him parched tongue and dry throat, and he prayed that it would ease his aching head. He gave no thanks to the Death Eater as he handed the empty flask back. Instead he reached over to the pile of moss in the corner and retrieved his second chocolate frog.

"Where did you get that?" asked the Death Eater, surprise ringing through his tone.

"I bought them on the train. I hid them before they searched me. I've only got one left."

He bit into the soothing chocolate, and found himself feeling slightly more energetic, slightly more like talking to this Death Eater whom he didn't really know all that well.

"If anyone asks, Dumbledore has Barnes' wand. I don't want them getting suspicious."

"You have it?" asked the Death Eater quickly.

Harry pulled the wand from under his shirt and held it between both of his hands.

"I haven't used it yet, just in case he detects the magic, but I'm fairly certain that it's a little bit compatible with me. It should be enough, if I get a chance to use it."

Harry almost could have imagined that a faint sense of approval radiated from the Death Eater.

"In three days, the Dark Lord will test the effects of the potion that I gave you tonight. I will have the antidote ready to give you then."

He swept out of the cell, the door clanging shut behind him.

**oOoOo**

It was the first Cruciatus curse that had been placed on him during his captivity, and it hurt as much as he remembered. When he screamed, the Muggle woman the Death Eaters had captured screamed too. Even from this distance, Harry could feel the fear she was in.

The second Cruciatus Curse was not nearly as forgiving as the first. When it ended, Harry refused to look at the Death Eater who had cast it. He wondered when he would give him the antidote instead of wondering if the man felt any remorse for him.

"Get to your feet, Potter," ordered Voldemort, and Harry struggled to do so, swaying slightly before regaining his balance. "Excellent…" murmured Voldemort.

He looked at the Death Eater.

"Are you certain it has been long enough?"

"Yes, my Lord," came the subservient reply. Harry felt fear flood him. What would he do?" Voldemort raised his wand and incanted a charm, but there was no answering stream of light. There was only…nothing. His mind went suddenly and blissfully blank. He blinked.

He looked down at his hand. It was stretched out in front of him, and there was a wand in it. How had that gotten there? And he was facing the opposite direction… the Muggle woman was at his feet now…shivering, screaming, convulsing in pain. The wand fell from his fingers and clattered on the floor. He took a shaky step backward, Voldemort's laughter ringing in his ears. The woman's screams had quieted to heart-wrenching sobs, and she stared up at him, her fear-filled eyes red-rimmed from crying.

_Oh, Merlin_.

"I'm so sorry…" he whispered, backing away from her. He shook his head in horror, the raucous laughter of the Death Eaters surrounding him. So that was what the potion did…control, total and utter control. And he hadn't even known it was happening.

He spun around to face the Death Eater that stood at Voldemort's side.

"Give me the antidote," he pleaded.

"Bring me my wand, Potter, and then you can have the antidote," said Voldemort. Harry's eyes widened. No wonder the wand had felt so right…evil, but right. Harry bent down and picked up the wand and handed it to Voldemort.

"Good…" he hissed, pleased. "Give him the antidote."

The Death Eater uncapped a vial and handed it to Harry. It was pure black, this time, and flowed down his throat sluggishly. Harry threw the empty vial to the ground where it shattered, and he swung a fist at Voldemort, connecting with his jaw. Voldemort stumbled backwards in surprise, holding his chin.

A look of controlled rage passed across his face. He flicked his wand at Harry and his chest seemed to seize up. A second thrust, and Harry felt all the air knocked out of him as though he had been punched in the gut. He fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air that wouldn't come. He felt the blood rushing to his face and the world spun in front of him. His muscles gave out and he fell to the ground with a _thump_, his eyes drifting closed as his vision dimmed. Just when he thought it might become too much, the curse was lifted.

He sucked the precious air into his lungs, but it smelt of mildew and darkness. His limbs trembled as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Bring the Mudblood up here," Voldemort ordered, and two Death Eaters moved forward to obey. She kicked out at them, but they grabbed her arms and dragged her forward, dumping her in the centre of the room.

"See her, Potter? Kill her, and I will spare you."

"I don't think so."

"Very well..."

**oOoOo**

The sobbing woman appeared in the Great Hall in the middle of dinner, and everyone present could immediately tell that she was a Muggle. She appeared out of thin air and sprawled onto the floor, losing her balance. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes wild with panic. She cast her gaze around at the students and seemed to calm slightly, her loud gasps the only sound in the silent hall.

Dumbledore stood slowly, the legs of his chair scraping against the stone floor.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice ringing out across the space. He withdrew his wand, holding it at his side. The woman saw it though, and with a terrified squeak she turned and ran, stumbling out of the Great Hall. Nearly all of the teachers jumped to their feet and followed the hysterical woman, and when the doors banged shut behind them the students broke out in whispers.

Outside the Great Hall, the woman came to a halt, her chest heaving. Where was the way out? The large doors in front of her seemed likely. She ran towards them, hearing the doors behind her swing open and shut, but before she got to them they too were opened. One of _them_ stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the night. She let out a shrill scream as the man started towards her and spun around, but she was encircled. She fell to her knees, begging for her life.

"Please, please," she pleaded. "Don't kill me…"

"We're not going to hurt you," Dumbledore said calmly, sending a searching look at Snape. Madam Pomfrey moved slowly towards the woman, kneeling down.

"Can you tell me your name?" she asked softly, stretching her hand out to the young woman. The woman's eyes darted around the circle of teachers and slowly she stretched her hand out to grasp Madam Pomfrey's. Madam Pomfrey drew her to her feet and wrapped her into a hug. The young woman buried her face in the nurse's shoulder, tears trickling down her face.

"You're safe now," Madam Pomfrey murmured. The teachers watched in silence as Madam Pomfrey comforted the woman, and slowly guided her up to the hospital wing. They followed her in muted silence, Snape muttering rapidly to Dumbledore under his breath. Madam Pomfrey sat the young woman down on a crisp white bed and handed her a mild calming draught.

"Drink this down, dear, that's right…can you tell me your name?"

"Mary," whispered the woman.

"Mary," smiled Madam Pomfrey, taking the empty vial back. "What a lovely name. You can call me Poppy."

Mary nodded, her gaze fixed unseeingly on the floor in front of her.

"Are you hurt in any way?" asked Madam Pomfrey, concern etched across her features as she saw Mary's trembling hands. Mary slowly shook her head.

"Not- not anymore. I was, though."

"Hmm." Madam Pomfrey handed her a second vial and Mary drank it automatically. The trembling subsided. Madam Pomfrey looked her charge over for a moment before nodding in satisfaction. She sat down next to Mary, her hands in her lap.

"Can you tell us how you got here?" she asked. Mary's lip trembled and she shook her head. Madam Pomfrey took her hand. "That's okay. Do you know where you were before this?" Again, another shake of the head.

"No."

"Can you tell me what happened to you?"

Mary shot a terrified glance at Snape, but nodded her head slowly.

"I was w- walking home after lunch," she said. "I live in Surrey. I'm not sure what happened, though. I think I must have been knocked unconscious. I woke up in- in a cell." She swallowed hard. "I was there for a few hours and then these men in black cloaks came." She shot another glance at Snape and raised her chin. "_He was_ one of them. I recognise his voice."

Professor McGonagall looked at Snape, pursing her lips, but Snape's face was inscrutable.

"Go on," prompted Madam Pomfrey gently.

"After that they took me into a room and there was- a man there. They called him-"

"The Dark Lord," interrupted Snape.

"Yes," said Mary. "But there was another one, a boy. He wasn't wearing a black cloak like the others. He called the man V-Voldemort."

Dumbledore looked up sharply, but Mary was continuing her story.

"Then they did something to me, and it hurt so much…they were laughing. They thought it was fun…"

Madam Pomfrey rubbed her back soothingly.

"After that they hurt the boy that was there." She looked up at Snape again. "He did it, too. He hurt him. And then Voldemort did something to the boy and made him hurt me, but he didn't mean to. When the boy found out, he hit Voldemort."

Madam Pomfrey tutted, casting pitying eyes on Snape.

"The boy hit Voldemort?" asked Dumbledore. Mary nodded.

"He wasn't very happy. He did something so that he couldn't breathe. After that he told the boy that if he killed me, he would spare him. The boy said no."

Something twinkled in Dumbledore's eyes, but it was quickly extinguished. Mary seemed unwilling to go on.

"What happened then?" asked Madam Pomfrey softly.

"I- They-"

"It was Lestrange," interrupted Snape, his voice distasteful. "He tried to rape her."

Marry let out a wail and hid her face in her hands.

"Severus!" admonished Madam Pomfrey.

"Side-stepping the issue will not change it." He retorted.

"Have some sensitivity!" Madam Pomfrey said reproachfully. Snape snorted.

"It didn't happen anyway," he said and Marry nodded.

"The boy saved me. When that man started- started attacking me, the boy started yelling and telling him to stop. He tried to help me, but other men held him back. And then he did something… I'm not sure what…"

"Wandless magic," interrupted Snape. "Blasted Lestrange fair across the room, not to mention Avery and Barton, who were holding him."

"He ran towards me, pulling something out of his pocket." She held out a thin card. "He tapped it and it- it _glowed_, blue. He handed it to me and then next thing I knew I was here."

"May I see that card?" asked Dumbledore, gesturing to it. Mary released her tight grip on it and handed it over.

"A chocolate frog card," murmured Dumbledore. He held the card out to Mary. "Is this the boy that saved you?" he asked, his expression sombre. Mary's eyes widened.

"Yes! But- it's moving! How is it moving?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly.

"I'm sure you have many questions," he said. "But first you need to rest. Poppy will take care of you, and if there is anything else, anything at all that you need to say, she can find me for you."

Mary nodded, somewhat confused at the odd statement. Dumbledore nodded, satisfied.

"Very well, I will see you later, Poppy, Mary."

They adjourned to Dumbledore's office and sat down around the table. Dumbledore looked searchingly at Snape.

"Severus? How did Harry manage to make a Portkey? Not wandless, surely?"

"No. He had a wand. He still had Barnes' wand when he was abducted and managed to hide it before they searched him. He got it back at some stage and used it to turn the card into a Portkey."

"Brave boy…" murmured Dumbledore, looking down at Harry's unsmiling face on the chocolate frog card.

"Foolish boy," spat Snape, "Giving away his only means of defence for a Muggle he has never met."

Dumbledore looked up at Snape, his expression cold.

"That," he said, "is what makes him Harry, Severus. You of all people should acknowledge that."

Snape flinched at the hidden meaning and averted his eyes. Dumbledore gave a small sigh and looked away.

"Why didn't Harry simply keep a hold on the Portkey as well? Or try and use it earlier?"

"I believe he tried to go with her. Unfortunately by the time he reached the girl, the Dark Lord had realised what he was doing. Although he didn't have time to put any wards up, he still had time to ensure that Potter couldn't leave. As for not trying earlier, well… I believe he wanted to save the wand for an emergency. He told me he didn't wish to risk doing magic in the dungeons in case the Dark Lord found out. If it hadn't worked it would have been wasted, and he only tried tonight because he believed it was his only option."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, laying the card on his desk. The Harry in the picture looked directly at him for a moment before looking down and turning away slightly, leaning against the edge of the photo.

"The girl, Mary," said Professor McGonagall. "She said that you hurt him, Severus. How could you?"

"I did what I had to, Minerva," snapped Snape. "And until his life is at risk I shall continue to do so."

"The poor boy," despaired Professor McGonagall.

"Do not blame Severus, Minerva. It was I who told him to maintain his cover. It is a price I am afraid we must pay."

Professor McGonagall looked shocked at this announcement.

"He's barely seventeen years old, Albus! Seventeen and he's gone through so much already. Now you expect someone he thought he could trust- a teacher, no less- to torture him? It's disgusting!"

"Unfortunately, Minerva," replied Dumbledore severely. "There is more at stake here than Harry's well-being. I like the fact no more that you do, but until we can get him out of there, it will continue as it is."

"Can't Severus just give him a Portkey? Obviously they work if that girl was able to get out."

"The Dark Lord is strengthening the wards after this incident. Portkeys are now ineffectual against them."

"How often do you see him, Severus?" asked Dumbledore.

"Irregularly. There is no guarantee that I will be called at any given time."

"Would you be able to give him a wand?" asked Dumbledore.

"I suppose. It is rare that I am alone with him, though."

"But you can try?"

"Yes, I can try."

**oOoOo**

"Potter, listen carefully. There is not much time," Snape muttered quickly. Harry opened his eyes disinterestedly, but they widened further when he saw the wand.

"Hide it well," said Snape. "Use it as soon as you have the option of doing so. If the Dark Lord falls, the wards will fall. Apparate immediately. Do you have the strength?" Snape asked. Harry shrugged.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we," replied Harry.

**oOoOo**

Five weeks. Not a particularly lengthy amount of time, but long enough for the body to waste away and the mind to shut down. Long enough for someone to lose hope and to pray for death. Long enough for regrets and memories of wasted moments to come flooding in, and long enough to realise that some things are never meant to be, no matter how much you want them.

It had seemed like an impossible dream when he had managed to take Voldemort by surprise and escape. Just one stunner, the most powerful one he could manage, and he had focussed his mind on the gates of Hogwarts and apparated. He nearly made it; ended up halfway down the road to Hogsmeade instead. He hadn't minded though, because he hadn't seen the sun in so long, and it was heaven. So he dragged himself to his feet and half walked, half crawled back to Hogwarts, his energy reserves non-existent. Someone had finally seen him as he passed the lake and helped him up to the castle while their friend ran ahead for help.

So now he was here, sitting in the hospital wing, feeling quite contented as he sat and watched the sun set. He hadn't seen anyone yet, except the teachers and the students who had helped him, but he didn't mind. He should have felt happy, relieved, but inside there was just nothing. After all that had happened, he felt hollow. It wasn't the experience itself that made him feel this way. It had happened before (granted, not on such a large scale, but it had happened nonetheless), but what made it so disappointing was the fact that _he_ had been there. _He_ had caused Harry pain, and he'd…found it satisfying. Maybe not enjoyable, but he certainly hadn't regretted it.

So Harry finally accepted what had been staring him in the face the whole time, and it left him empty.

_This_, he thought, _far outweighs anything Voldemort has ever done to me. _This _is the worst thing that could ever happen to a child._

Harry looked down at his arms and chest. Madam Pomfrey had done a good job. There was hardly any evidence of what he had been through; just one little scar that had refused to budge.

A curse scar, she said, just like the one on your forehead.

One little scar that would remind him forever why he felt so alone, even when he had so many friends. One little scar that was the only physical sign of _his_ hatred.

Harry watched the sun go down and darkness claimed the world as it claimed his heart.

A single star peeked down from the heavens, but Harry didn't wish on it. He'd wished so hard already. He couldn't stand it if another dream went unfulfilled. It was better, he thought, to simply not have dreams, because then life could never let you down. Take each day as it comes and don't hope for more. Don't care about anything, just in case it goes away, and always, _always_, remember that you didn't make it because you _just aren't worth it_.

**oOoOo**

When Harry spoke, Snape started. He hadn't realised that his presence had been known. Potter's words were slow and measured- defeated, Snape realised.

"I know under normal circumstances you never would have done what you did, and I know you did what was needed. But I also know," he added, turning his penetrating gaze on Snape, "that every bit of hate and anger you put into those curses was genuine, and I know that it was for me."

Snape felt a tingle in his fingers and neck as blood rushed to his chest in some kind of intuitive survival instinct. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. Harry turned his eyes back to the window and kept talking, and now his voice was lighter, uncaring.

"So I just wanted you to know that it's okay. I don't have any expectations." _Not anymore_. "I don't want you thinking that I want anything. So now we can just move on and forget that…I'm not really Harry Potter."

Snape felt oddly hollow at Harry's declaration. He reminded himself that this was a triumph, a victory. He was free. Potter's words had never been truer.

"I'm glad we understand each other," he said coldly. He waited a moment for Harry to respond, but no words were forthcoming. He felt strangely irritated at his; at how Potter just sat there staring out the window as though it were more important than him- as though Snape no longer mattered.

He sneered, defensiveness that wasn't even required setting in. He loathed the day he had first set eyes on the pathetic child, had hated the very sight of him. That would never change.

When he left, Harry put everything from his mind and slept, because there was nothing he could do.

Nothing mattered anymore.

**oOoOo**

So that's our story.

I guess I learned a lot from what happened. Not everyone gets what they want, whether it be through accident or fault. Sometimes circumstances negate any choice of will, and sometimes it's your will that shapes circumstances. For us, it was the former.

Had things been different…I don't know. It doesn't really matter anyway, because you can't alter the past.

Snape…I can tell that we won't talk much anymore. It'll be like I don't even exist to him, and I guess I should do the same. I really meant what I said to him, though, about accepting what he did to me. I know he had no choice, and even though I hated it I know that it was the only way. The war effort _was_ more important than my happiness, or whatever you want to call it that was destroyed in that place.

I know he abhors his role as a spy, but I think he feels compelled to keep going. And he is absolved of blame because if it wasn't his spells that were upon me or some other hapless victim of the war, it would have been some other Death Eater's. He was merciful, at least, and Voldemort was assured of his loyalty because of it. I know it will eventually win us the war.

I've always tried to understand Snape; what drives him to do as he does, and what motivates him. I think I know now.

It's all about survival for him. Hidden underneath all the layers he's built up there's the man he might have been had things been different, but you don't see that man. The only evidence you have of his being is Snape's deeply hidden morals and values, which I suppose he shows through his work to the Order. Mostly though, Snape does what he does because that is all he's ever known. He never really had a chance to live, and because he survived the dark as a child he knows he can survive it now.

To him, darkness is safe. It will catch him if he falls, because it's always been there for him. Light, you see, can be unpredictable. It can come and go, waxing and waning like the moon. Darkness, though…Even if it disappeared from the world, it would still be in his heart. You can't take darkness from someone.

I guess the darkness has made him strong, stronger than me, because I'd never be able to do what he did. I'd never want to.

That could change, though. He seeks the dark because in the darkness he doesn't have to feel, and if it stops me from feeling this utter, overwhelming despair, then I'll follow him there.

I've realised now that darkness and evil are two very different things. It's a distinction I think I'd have preferred not to have know, because darkness is worse. You can escape from evil, but the darkness…it grabs you with invisible claws and doesn't let go.

So I could follow him into the darkness, if I wanted. Like father like son, I could drown in life's disappointments. After all, what's the point of living if the person that gave you life in the first place thinks that you aren't worthy of it? It was a foolish hope for me to wish that Snape would want me. I should have learnt from the Dursleys.

Snape's betrayal hurt the worst, though. I'd swear it broke my heart in two if I couldn't feel it beating in my chest. But the darkness is creeping in.

I hate him so much it hurts nearly as much as I love him. I think that proves that family means a lot, because I started loving him the moment I found out. His rejection hasn't changed that.

Or maybe I'm just a fool. I don't know. I don't know _anything_ anymore, it seems.

All I know is that I wish I'd never found out that he was my father. My father, who hides in the shadows because the light is harsh. The darkness doesn't judge you, because it can't see you. All it sees is who you truly are, deep inside you. It holds no presumptions, no prejudices. In retrospect, it sounds like a nice place to be.

He doesn't have to care when he's there, and I think that maybe if I follow him I'll stop caring as well. The darkness is mercy.

I realise now that he's been running his whole life, seeking something better than what he had. He finally gave up though, when he realised that this life held nothing for him. Now, survival is everything and there is no room for anything else. No room for love, for life, for happiness. No room for me.

He's given up hope and he won't go back because he's scared he'll be disappointed all over again.

So he lets darkness consume him, because it is the only thing he has ever known, and despite what it is, he's comfortable with it. He lets it take him, because it is the only way that he doesn't have to care. And I think, maybe in our mutual darkness we could finally come to understand each other; to be closer.

So I let Darkness be my world, because Darkness is his.

**oOoOo**

**A/N: The end didn't turn out as well as I wanted, but I'm so glad I've finished I'm just gonna post it! Had to get that one out of my system. I see too many fics where Snape just looks at Harry's big puppy dog eyes and goes to pieces. So OOC, and I detest OOC-ness. Hope this was okay! Please, please, please review! And thanks for reading! Read my other stories, too! I recommend HP and the Curse of V'Ardian and The Strength of White, Part 1. Part Two isn't bad, but I think the story ends well enough on Part 1. Remember to review- Wujjawoo. **


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